


It Doesn't Go Away

by midnightwaterlily33



Series: Damian's VLD Whumpmas 2017 [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anxiety, Christmas Eve, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Kinda, Multi, Self-Indulgent, interpret the relationship as you wish, it's rather mild, this is also kind of a vent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 09:10:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13163784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightwaterlily33/pseuds/midnightwaterlily33
Summary: Depression doesn't take a break on Christmas Eve. Keith is realizing this.





	It Doesn't Go Away

**Author's Note:**

> This is for vldwhumpmas on Tumblr. 
> 
> So I had an unexpected and poorly-timed bad depression day today. And so I backpedaled to this day. I’m sorry; it is admittedly a bit choppy and not exactly entertaining; this is really more of a vent than I’d like, but i tried. Writing this did end up making me feel a little better though. I hope everyone is doing ok as the holidays come upon us. and if you aren’t, it’s okay. be gentle with yourself and take care as you can. try to accept help when it’s there for you.

 

It doesn’t come with an explanation or a cause. And it doesn’t go away. He’s forced to face that ugly truth for himself for the first time.

No amount of hot chocolate, blankets, or light shows can make it go away. Keith can’t make it go away himself either. He wishes, oh so much more desperately than usual now, that he could. He has this realization in a simple and painful moment when he wakes up the morning of Christmas Eve with the weight sitting on his chest.

He’s in the Shirogane household’s guest room. The bed is soft, dressed in warm fleece sheets and more pillows than Keith has ever seen in one room. The room–and the entire home, really–smells like cinnamon and pine, not dust and old food as Keith recalls from distant holiday memories. The light filtering in from the window is soft and warm, and as he opens his eyes, he also catches the smell of pancakes and bacon cooking from the kitchen.

He doesn’t want to get out of bed.

He isn’t sure if he can.

Everything feels heavy and unbearable. His chest is tight and his head is buzzing, his eyes itch and his chest is aching. It’s a bad day. It’s a very, very bad day.

It’s Christmas Eve.

It’s Christmas Eve, it’s Christmas Eve, it’s Christmas Eve. His mind screams back at him in a loop as the dread pools deep in his stomach, hot and uncomfortable. It’s Christmas Eve and he’s woken up feeling horrible and not at all like he should. He’s here, with Shiro and his parents. They’ve given him a bed and a space in a warm house, and more food than he can eat and, and, and…

And for some reason he’s just woken up feeling unbearably sad and angry and scared and annoyed and, and, and…

They’re going to hate him. If he has to face them and they start to ask him questions, he thinks he’s going to explode. Or maybe they’ll try to feed him pancakes and ask him what he wants to do today and he’s going to clam up and forget how to speak. He’ll go silent and they’ll think he hates it here, and that he isn’t thankful, that he isn’t having any fun.

They’re going to realize he’s an ungrateful and broken kid and they never should have brought him into their holiday.

He doesn’t know what’s set him off but he descends quickly into a foul mood and tries desperately to push it down.

He emerges from his bedroom eventually. The last thing he needs is for them to come looking for him; that would be worse. He feels simultaneously like his heart is in the pit of his stomach and his brain is rattling in his skull.

Mr.Shirogane talks to him as he serves him pancakes and Keith doesn’t comprehend his questions. He nods, and the man makes a displeased face, so he shakes his head no instead. The frown on his face deepens at that and Keith just sinks into his seat.

He ends up throwing over half of his breakfast in the trash.

Somehow, the hours pass by. He feels nothing. Mrs. Shirogane has talked to him and Keith has answered her in as little words as possible. He’s forgotten everything they’ve said. Shiro and his father have been having lively conversations around him but he’s been sat in the corner, keeping silent. Christmas specials have been playing on the TV, and Mrs. Shirogane is baking cookies. He’s clutched onto a soft green blanket around his shoulders all morning. It should make him feel warm and satisfied, but he doesn’t. He thinks maybe Shiro’s asked him some things too, but Keith hasn’t answered.

Then, all at once, it becomes too much. The sound of the television in the background grates on his ears, the scent of baking gingerbread is sickening, and the warm air is pressing on his chest. Shiro calls out to him but to look at his face will be irritating. He can’t open his mouth. Talking will hurt.

He gets up and dashes out the back door.

He should be thinking about anything else… How amazing Mrs. Shirogane’s Christmas Eve dinner will be, whether Shiro will like his gifts, and how lucky they are the weather is mild today.

He sits on the steps of the back porch and watches birds flit about in the trees. It’s still a little warm here, even though it’s December. The sun on his back would feel nice, but it makes him feel hot and the sensation is a tad itchy in a way he can’t quell. It’s under his skin and he hates being in his body.

All he can think about is the pooling sense of dread deep inside. How much this day is going to drag on, how unpleasant he looks to the Shiroganes, how this is all going to end soon and Keith will have to go back to the Garrison and his dorm, alone. He has homework, and his grades at the end of the semester were bad. He’ll have to start tutoring. His instructors all think he’s indignant and lazy; Iverson hates him. He’s been at the Garrison for two years already and he hasn’t made a single friend. He’s got Shiro, but Shiro was obligated to talk to Keith from the moment they met.

“Keith,” he hears Shiro’s voice behind him and is torn away from his spiraling thoughts. He opens his eyes–never realized he closed them and turns.

Shiro stands leaned against the fence with his hands in his pockets and an easy smile on his face. It’s as if Keith hasn’t done anything wrong–doesn’t Shiro know anything?

“What’s going on?” Shiro says softly. Keith was honestly expecting an ‘are you okay’ or a ‘why did you storm out like that.’

Keith wants so badly to answer, “nothing,’ or ‘I’ll be okay.’ ‘don’t worry, Shiro.’ But once more, he can’t say anything. His tongue is clumsy and foreign. His mind is muddled.

Shiro settles beside him, kicking up his feet like he just came out here to relax.

“Would you hate it if I touched you right now?” Keith shrugs.

After a beat, Keith feels Shiro’s hand on his, and his fingers wriggle their way under where Keith’s lies, dead weight, until Shiro is clutching Keith’s cold hand in his.

Shiro’s hand is so large. It’s warmer than Keith’s… it isn’t cold outside but Keith guesses that he’s cold from the inside out. He focuses on the calloused feeling of Shiro’s palms, built in years of working at mechanics at the Garrison, of piloting, and of home improvement for his mom and dad. Keith’s hands are like a baby’s.

He tries to talk to Shiro, but the words die in his mouth and he has to swallow them like cough syrup.

The sun begins to sink lower in the horizon. Shiro stays, and he holds onto Keith’s hand tight. Somewhere in the distance, out of nowhere, the soft tune of a faraway Christmas carol starts up. The neighbors, somewhere down the road are playing “Joy to the World” with the windows open.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Shiro says, startling Keith out of the trance he’s apparently lapsed into. “But can you listen to me?”

“…Today’s a bad day, yeah? I know that sometimes you can’t do anything, even talk. Mom and dad I won’t make you talk about it. And it’s okay; you don’t have to say anything.” Shiro pauses, taking a measured breath and gazing out at the sunset. He lets Keith think for a second anf goes on. “…But… we want you with us. It’s okay to be angry, or sad or in a bad mood. But don’t isolate yourself.”

“We can… watch movies or eat cookies or take a nap, and you don’t have to talk or do anything. But we’re… we’re here for you.”

The Christmas music from down the street gets louder. Somewhere, a dog barks, and Shiro takes a deep breath, smiles at Keith, and runs his fingers over his knuckles. The sensations ground Keith, and bring him slowly back to himself.

He remembers it’s Christmas Eve, and that they have dinner plans and more candy and hot chocolate than Keith could ever want. He looks to Shiro, and finds him still smiling, and he hasn’t let go of Keith’s hand; doesn’t think he will unless Keith pulls away.

“I”m sorry,” Keith murmurs, when he feels like his voice has returned to his body.

“It’s okay,” Shiro promises again, voice low. “Do you want some hot chocolate? I think dinner is almost done too.”

Keith tries to smile, but it probably comes out as a grimace. He croaks, “Hot chocolate sounds good.”

“With extra marshmallows?” Shiro guesses. Keith gives another warped smile, but Shiro beams back at him like all is okay. It isn’t. It hurts, and it crawls under his skin, but with Shiro beside him, Keith thinks he can let it be.

Hot chocolate won’t make it better, but it will still taste good.

 

 


End file.
